


The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

by boughofawillowtree



Series: Repossession Recovery [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Is Trying (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caretaking, Christmas Decorations, Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repossession, Trauma, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofawillowtree/pseuds/boughofawillowtree
Summary: As Crowley recovers from the events ofRepossession,Aziraphale has been working hard to keep it together for his beloved. But living with, and caring for, someone in trauma recovery can be tough. After a fight with Crowley, Aziraphale heads to a local mall to clear his head - but he has some pain of his own to contend with. A human steps in and helps out, and Aziraphale learns the importance of tending to his own needs when he's hurting.This is part of myRepossession Recoveryseries, but since it's told from Aziraphale's point of view, it doesn't have any flashbacks to Crowley's time in Heaven, making it the least graphic of the stories.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Repossession Recovery [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542178
Comments: 35
Kudos: 249
Collections: Repossession Fics, Repossession and Repo-verse Works





	The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 



> I know for most people the Christmas season is over, but I'm Anglican, so it's technically still Christmas for me - making this story timely and seasonal rather than late!
> 
> Huge thanks to the amazing @dreamsofspike for beta-reading!

It was the third day of Hanukkah, and Crowley was in a foul mood. Had been, for a few days, and it was weighing on Aziraphale. A sour gloom seemed to pervade the house, and the angel found himself avoiding Crowley as much as possible. It broke his heart to see Crowley unable to enjoy the Festival of Lights, which they had celebrated together hundreds of times since the original miracle. All he did now was mumble quickly through the songs and snap his fingers to light the candles.

“We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to,” Aziraphale had said after the first miserable night.

“It’s fine.”

“I just thought it would be nice.”

Crowley had rolled his eyes and left the room. 

Now it was lunchtime, and Crowley of course didn’t want anything to eat, so Aziraphale was tucking into a sandwich by himself at the breakfast nook.

He hated it, the way Crowley’s crankiness seemed to permeate everywhere, and the way he could not be coaxed or persuaded out of it. Aziraphale knew realistically that sometimes Crowley just needed to be left alone to his darker seasons, but it was just so unpleasant, and Aziraphale only had so much patience. It was the holidays - Christmas only two days away - and he couldn’t bear the thought of spending such a jolly time walking on eggshells and tensely navigating Crowley’s peevish attitude.

Aziraphale found Crowley in the front room of the bookshop, glowering out the window at the bundled-up humans on the sidewalks.

The angel put on his chipperest tone. “I was thinking, perhaps, a walk through the park this afternoon?”

“No thanks,” Crowley said, not taking his eyes off the window. “Go without me.”

“Well that rather defeats the point,” Aziraphale said, trying not to whine. “Perhaps we could go for cocoa and coffee instead?”

“I don’t wanna go anywhere,” Crowley said. “Don’t worry about me, angel.”

“What I wanted was to spend some time with you. If you’d rather stay in, perhaps I could read to you a bit?”

Crowley finally turned around. “Why is it so important that I do something?” the demon snapped. “Just do what you want.”

Aziraphale made a small defensive noise. “I just wanted to spend some time with you, dear.”

“Could you just, for once, quit fussing over me non-stop? I don’t want to be read to, I don’t want to go to the park, maybe I just want to be left alone.”

“I only hoped-"

Crowley interrupted, louder now. “I can’t always be happy-jolly for you, Aziraphale, I’m sorry! Stop trying to cheer me up, it doesn’t work.”

“I’m doing the best I can, Crowley!”

“You can’t just  _ fix  _ me, angel!” Crowley was snarling now, his arms thrown out angrily. “You can’t just hassle me into suddenly feeling better!”

“I wish I could, dearest. I wish I could take it all away. But...I don’t have that kind of power.”

“No, you don’t.” There was something new and strange in Crowley’s voice now, an accusatory bite. “You really don’t.”

“I know that,” Aziraphale said, a nervous edginess overtaking him.

“Do you, now?”

“Crowley, what’s wrong?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t control how I feel. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do. What’s this about?”

“Because sometimes it sure feels like you want to.”

Aziraphale could tell he was on dangerous ground now, but the terrain felt new. Nothing seemed safe to say, but he couldn’t say nothing. “I must admit, love, that I do wish I could fix everything for you. Undo all of this. Make it so it never happened. But I don’t have that kind of control. And it’s probably for the best that I don’t.”

“For the best, hm?”

“Well, yes, Crowley. You deserve the space to feel anything you need to. I can’t, and shouldn’t, push you to change your mood.” Shame roiled in Aziraphale’s gut as he continued. “And, well, you know what happened when I tried to take matters into my own hands.”

Aziraphale hoped he had said the right thing.

It immediately became obvious that he hadn’t. Crowley stalked toward him, pointing a sharp finger at Aziraphale and sneering. “You didn’t seem to have too much trouble with it when you were signing on the dotted line. To  _ own _ me.”

Aziraphale felt like someone had punched him in the chest. “Crowley, you know better than that!”

“I don’t know anything! All I know is that you did everything Gabriel told you to do, while I sat there on the floor in agony.”

“I didn’t want to do any of that, Crowley! I had no choice!”

Rage blazed in Crowley’s amber eyes. “You think  _ you _ had no choice? You have no idea -  _ no idea  _ what that means. What it’s like.”

“Of course I don’t, Crowley. I didn’t go through what you went through. I never said I did!”

“Well then, stop trying to tell me how I should feel!”

It wasn’t fair. Crowley wasn’t being reasonable. Was blaming him for things that weren’t his fault at all. Anger rose in Aziraphale and he stamped his foot as he shouted back, “I’m not telling you how to feel, Crowley, so stop saying that I am!”

“You sure seem awfully invested in me  _ cheering up _ , for someone who doesn’t care how I feel!”

If Crowley didn’t stop putting words in his mouth, Aziraphale was going to lose his temper, and he didn’t want that at all. He took a deep breath and tried to speak more calmly. “I do care how you feel, Crowley. And I’ll admit, I do like seeing you happy. Perhaps I pushed a little too much - it can be hard for me to see you like this sometimes.”

“Fine, well, I’m sorry this whole thing is so hard on you,” Crowley said, his pseudo-apology dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll just take my annoyingly angry self somewhere my silly old bad mood can’t bother you.” With that, Crowley stormed out the door, slamming it behind him hard enough to crack the glass and knock some of the flyers onto the floor.

Azirpahale picked the flyers up, his eyes brimming with tears, and fought the urge to go after Crowley. Clearly, the demon needed some space. And it would probably be wise for Aziraphale to take some for himself, as well.

He shoved the flyers into the wastebasket and looked around the bookshop. He didn’t feel like staying here, but he also didn’t want to go get cocoa or walk in the park without Crowley. No, Aziraphale would go to the mall, where all the humans were. Humans were everywhere, this season. And they were easy. Not simple, but easier to help. Their problems could more often be miracled away.

He needed something tidy. So he headed toward the mall, where he wandered around in the crowds, noticing the stress that emanated from nearly everyone. He spent a long time loitering in a toy store, soothing crying toddlers and ensuring that every harried parent had enough cash on hand to make their purchase. 

As the activity lulled in the toy store, Aziraphale wandered out into the mall, taking in the Christmas cheer. Running in steady streams alongside the anxiety of the season were the seasonal classics like joy, and anticipation, and the warmth of holidays spent with loved ones. He quickly distracted a crotchety security guard from harassing a teenage couple engaged in some heavy petting on a bench before heading in the direction of the food court, which smelled delicious.

Aziraphale was on the second floor of the mall, where the walkways and balconies overlooked the first floor. From here, the holiday decorations were spectacular. Aziraphale slowed his pace to take them in. Gigantic sparkly ornaments hung from the ceiling and lush green garlands were draped over every archway and column. An enormous Christmas tree, done up in silver and blue and white, dominated the western end of the mall.

He was starting to relax. He was in no hurry to return to the bookshop, and he knew could spend hours here, enjoying the window displays and the holiday decorations. Aziraphale loved helping humans out, and the relief and gratitude that had wafted his way after his handful of miracles warmed his heart.

As he headed on towards the cinnamon and peppermint smells of the food court, the tree and all its greenery gave way to another display. Looking over a railing, Aziraphale saw a larger-than-life nativity scene, with the Christ child, Mary, Joseph, and a small army of shepherds and wise men. Of course they were draped in finery and lit with sparkling gold - a far cry from the stable where the real infant had lain. Aziraphale smiled at the scene, deciding not to begrudge the humans their inaccuracies this day.

Next to him, some mall-goers who appeared to be a mother and daughter were pointing and exclaiming over the elaborate display. The younger one turned to him and asked, “Would you take our picture?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale took her proffered phone, trying to remember what Crowley had taught him about taking photographs with the things, and stepped backwards a few paces. The two women stood next to the railing, arms around each other.

Aziraphale held the phone up, squinting at the small screen. He was about to press the big round button when the older woman said, “Make sure to get the angel in!”

Aziraphale looked up. Behind her, he could now see a massive light in the shape of the star of Bethlehem. Next to it was an angel, arms outstretched, a beatific smile on his face. His flowing white robes were trimmed with deep purple, and he was lit from beneath with a soft glow. A large ribbon hung below him, reading  _ BE NOT AFRAID _ in purple script. 

It was the archangel Gabriel. 

Aziraphale heard a strange crunching sound and looked down at his hand, where he had accidentally squeezed the device hard enough to shatter the glass. Startled, he let it go and it dropped to the floor. The two women shrieked at him, and one raced over to grab at the pieces of her phone.

“I’m sorry, I apologize - do let me,” Aziraphale said, sweeping the bits of glass into his hand and miracling them back together. “There, no harm done.” His voice shook as he thrust the phone back at the woman. The mother and daughter shouted a few more things at him before hurrying away.

Aziraphale collapsed onto a nearby bench and buried his head in his hands. Why, here, of all places? The humans had no idea who they were glorifying. Everyone had it all wrong. The right people never got to be heroes of the stories. 

He told himself to take some deep breaths and walk away. That was the wisest move. 

But then he heard an excited squeal from another one of the seemingly infinite humans making their way through the mall. “Ooh, look! It’s the angel Gabriel!”

“He’s my favorite,” someone replied. 

Aziraphale snapped his head up and looked in the direction of the voices. A group of three elderly women, carrying armfuls of bags, had stopped to see the nativity scene.

“They never include the angels anymore,” one said petulantly. 

“No, and it’s a shame. This is just excellent, though.”

“We should tell somebody. Say thank you, that we love the Gabriel.” 

Something came over Aziraphale then, a shaking, blinding rage, and before he could think better of it, he stood up and addressed the women. 

“Excuse me, but do you know who that is?”

“It’s the archangel Gabriel, dear,” said one of them.

“From the Bible,” offered another.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said through clenched teeth, “but do you really know? Do you know who he is?”

The women looked confused. “Er, God’s messenger, right?”

Another one sang a halting line from a Christmas carol.

Aziraphale pointed angrily at the giant angel. “You think that’s the messenger of God, do you?”

The women were backing away from him now, glancing around. Nearby, the two women who’d asked Aziraphale to take their photo were talking with a security guard and pointing at him. 

“Well, of course it’s not real,” one of the women said in a patronizing tone.

Aziraphale was pacing now, gesturing at the angel and yelling at the women. “You think he’s a good guy? You like him?” He spun around, addressing the crowd that had begun to gather. “Do any of you humans even know what you’re glorifying?”

Two security guards pushed their way through the crowd and began to approach Aziraphale. “Excuse me, sir,” one of them said, holding out a placating hand. 

“Get away from me!” Aziraphale stormed toward the railing and flung one arm at the angel. He didn’t have anything to throw, but after his motion something crashed into the display and sent a fist-sized chunk of what looked like plaster falling toward the food court. 

“Sir, you’re going to need to come with us.” Now the security guards were touching him, trying to hold him by the upper arms.

“You don’t know anything,” Aziraphale cried. “You don’t know!” He was screaming now, at the angel, at the crowd, at the security officers. He threw another enraged miracle at the display, knocking a jagged hole in its robes.

A few of the humans appeared to be filming him with their phones. The security guards were getting louder as they scuffled with Aziraphale. Someone was laughing. All Aziraphale wanted was to get to Gabriel. To fight him, to hurt him. To show everyone what he really was. He wanted everyone to know the truth. 

Then, through the chaos, a clear, calm voice. “Excuse me! Excuse me! I can help.”

Time slowed down a bit, things came more into focus. A tall woman with bronze-colored ringlets and round eyes had pushed through the crowd and was approaching the security guards and Aziraphale.

“My name is Hava, I’m a crisis counselor.” She held out a small card from her wallet to show them. “Can I talk to him, please?”

Aziraphale was catching his breath, no longer struggling against the men holding him. One of the security guards looked at him and shrugged. “You okay with that?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, chastened.

“You can let go of him,” Hava said with an authoritative air. The guards did so. “Thank you for your service, officers. But I don’t think this man is a threat. Is it alright if he has a walk with me, for a bit?”

“Look, lady,” one of the guards said, “if he causes a disturbance, we have to remove him.”

Hava smiled. “I understand. I don’t think that will happen. But if it does, we’ll leave. Alright?” She was addressing Aziraphale, not the men.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said again. 

“May I?” Hava reached out toward Aziraphale’s elbow and he nodded. She took it gently and began to lead him away. 

One of the crowd members called, “Throw him out!” Someone else yelled something cruel about Aziraphale’s clothing.

“Ignore them,” Hava said. 

Aziraphale was happy to.

Hava took him down a moving staircase and into the food court, where the angel was no longer visible unless one were to look straight up. 

“Do you like cinnamon buns?”

She bought Aziraphale something she called a “cinnabun,” which was warm and gooey and sweet and delicious. She ordered a coffee for herself, then bustled them into a quiet spot at the corner of the bustling cafeteria. 

“My name is Hava,” she said after she sat down and threw her coat over the chair back.

“I’m Aziraphale.”

“That’s a nice name,” Hava said. 

Aziraphale poked at his cinnabun. “Thanks.” 

He was grateful that Hava had gotten the security guards to stop manhandling him and helped get him out of the crowd, but now, he wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. What he was supposed to do.

“You know,” Hava said, breaking the silence, “the holidays are very difficult for a lot of people. Between the gloomy weather, short days, and the chaos of the season, almost everyone has a hard time.”

“I love Christmas,” Aziraphale said. “Or, perhaps, I used to love Christmas.”

“I see.” Hava tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you feel like telling me what changed?”

Aziraphale considered. On the one hand, he wasn’t generally in the habit of telling strange humans about his problems. But on the other hand, God had gone quiet again, and it wasn’t like he could talk to Crowley about how angry and helpless he felt sometimes. It couldn’t hurt, he reasoned. Most of his books included reminders that loving someone with trauma wasn’t easy, and that anyone supporting a survivor should make sure to find ways to take care of themselves. 

He’d thought that’s what he was doing, coming to the mall for some easy Christmas miracles. But it had all gone south. Gabriel, curse him, seemed able to ruin everything. 

Hava waited, patient and friendly, while Aziraphale thought. Somehow, her willingness to sit in the silence without pushing him to talk made it easier to open up.

“My friend -” Aziraphale closed his eyes and reminded himself of where he was, and when he was. “My...my husband. He was hurt, very badly, by someone.”

“That’s so hard,” Hava murmured. 

“And now he’s home, and the hurting, it’s - it’s stopped, I mean, he’s not getting hurt anymore. But…”

Aziraphale didn’t know how to continue. He glanced around the food court and noticed a handful of humans whispering and pointing in his direction. Hava was still listening, waiting gently for him to finish.

“It’s not the same. He’s not the same. Sometimes, it’s rather awful at home. But I can’t be angry at  _ him _ . It’s not his fault. And I love him so much. It...it’s hard.”

Hava set her hand in the center of the small table, there for Aziraphale to hold if he wanted. “It sounds like you’re holding a lot of pain, and you can’t ask him to hold it with you, because he’s focused on his own healing.”

Aziraphale nodded. He hadn’t expected Hava to be so insightful. Or for her insight to make him feel like something was unraveling inside him.

“The worst part,” he continued, “is that the person who did it - the person who hurt him - everyone thinks he’s so great.” Aziraphale paused to wipe his eyes, not having realized he was crying. Hava produced a soft tissue from her bag and handed it to him. 

“I believe that,” Hava said as Aziraphale sniffled into the tissue. “Abusers can be very good at maintaining a public image that hides the truth of their abuse.”

Aziraphale smiled and pocketed the tissue. It was nice, hearing her say that she believed him. He reached across the table and rested his hand next to hers - not touching, but a gesture of closeness.

“It’s not fair,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his face. “There’s so much going on that I can’t do anything about. Sometimes I feel so…” Aziraphale closed his eyes, searching for the word. “So  _ little _ .”

Hava made a soft noise of understanding. “Sometimes, when abusers have a lot of power, or when they’re aligned with a powerful institution, things can seem so helpless.”

Aziraphale pulled out the tissue again and dabbed at his eyes, which were now streaming. Helpless was the right word, and it was oddly powerful to hear it from someone else. “Uh huh.”

“But it sounds like your husband has a strong supporter, in you.” Hava smiled. “That’s huge. That’s something to take seriously, and to be proud of. I’m sure it’s not easy.”

“It doesn’t seem to matter,” Aziraphale said, not even bothering to try and filter the whine out of his speech. “I want to help him, but sometimes, it’s like everything I do just makes it worse.”

“Living with trauma is hard. I can see how hard it’s been on you. All you can do is your best.”

Aziraphale laughed darkly. “I don’t think security officers often get called to remove individuals who are  _ at their best _ .”

“Well, that’s fair.” Hava sipped her coffee. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, surprised at her response. He had half expected her to argue. “Do you want to talk about what happened for you, back there?”

Aziraphale sighed. He didn’t, really - but also, in a way, he did. “That nativity scene, with the angel,” he muttered. “This bright, happy family, and the star over everything, and the big angel - it just, it reminded me. Of…”

Aziraphale had no idea how to explain to this human that his problem was, literally, with the archangel Gabriel. “...things,” he finished, taking another bite of his cinnamon roll. 

Hava nodded, making more murmurs of understanding. “I think security was worried you were going to try and damage the display.”

“I wish,” Aziraphale said. “But that wouldn’t actually fix anything.”

“No,” Hava said. “It wouldn’t.”

Her matter-of-fact statement took Aziraphale aback. This human was not like most of the other ones Aziraphale had met. They tended to say things that reassured or smoothed over, and seemed rather allergic to the type of bluntness Hava displayed.

“What will, then?” Aziraphale was aware that it sounded more like a petulant demand than a conversational question, but Hava didn’t seem to mind.

“Nothing.”

Aziraphale nearly choked on his cinnabun. “What do you mean?”

“Some things can’t be fixed. You don't just wipe it all away and go on like it never happened.”

“Well then, what am I supposed to do!?” Aziraphale could feel his face heating, his voice rising, but it was as if he was tumbling down an incline, out of control, picking up speed as he went. 

Hava didn’t answer at first, instead straightening her back and taking a deep breath. As she repeated the motion, Aziraphale noticed his own corporation mirroring her, and felt himself calm slightly. 

“You take care of yourself,” she said, finally. “Have you ever heard the expression  _ you can’t pour from an empty cup _ ?”

Aziraphale nodded. He had heard nearly every human expression, in thousands of languages. Few of them seemed to apply to him.

“It sounds like you’ve been spending all your energy keeping it together for your husband. Sooner or later, that’s going to run out. And you end up yelling at angels at the mall. You need to find ways to fill your own cup, so that you can be there for him without draining yourself.”

“I...I thought I was doing that, coming here.” Aziraphale stared down at the ugly formica tabletop. “Another mistake.”

“Hey.” Hava’s voice was stern enough to force Aziraphale to look up and meet her eyes again. “You’re doing your best. Stop blaming yourself for not being perfect. We all make mistakes - I’m sure you’ve seen your husband have a breakdown or two, right?”

Aziraphale almost laughed at that. “A few,” he said, and Hava smiled.

“And did you love him any less?”

“No!”

“Well, then, give yourself some of that same grace.”

_ Grace _ . A strange word, from a human. It had meant so many things over the years. It had never occurred to Aziraphale that it was something he could have for himself.

The tears were coming again, thick and hard in his throat, and Hava seemed to understand that Aziraphale was happier for her to continue without waiting for his response.

“Relationships are tough, and trauma makes everything tougher. It’s going to happen. When you do lose it, dust yourself off and keep going. But - and this is important - self-care can make that less likely, and less damaging, and easier to come back from. So let’s make you a plan.”

Hava reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and one of the cards she had shown to the security officers, which she placed blank-side-up on the table.

“What are some things that fill your cup? And for now, let’s not include anything that involves your husband.”

Aziraphale shrugged. Crowley was his whole world.

“Come on,” Hava prodded. “I see you enjoying that Cinnabon, right? Do you like sweet treats?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale conceded. 

“So maybe treating yourself to a favorite food could be part of your self-care plan.” She wrote that on the card. “What else?”

Aziraphale was starting to get it. “Reading,” he said. “I like books.”

“That’s great!” Hava wrote that down. “I like to do things in threes - let’s get one more thing down, okay?”

Aziraphale thought about everything that brought him happiness. It all came back to Crowley. Walking in the park with Crowley. Cuddling in bed. Banter over wine. Even the two things Hava had written down, he preferred to do with Crowley.

He hated to disappoint Hava, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “I don’t know.”

“Has anything helped you, made things easier when you felt alone or frustrated?”

Something occurred to Aziraphale, then. “This conversation,” he said. “Talking, with you. Is that allowed?”

Hava beamed. “Absolutely. I’m honored that you were willing to talk with me about this, Aziraphale.” She wrote something on the card, then flipped it over. “Here’s my card,” she said as she passed it to Aziraphale. “You can call me anytime. But I’m a crisis counselor, and if you want someone more consistent to work with, I can connect you to some of my colleagues. Your husband, too.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale pocketed the card. 

“Can I walk you out? I think the security guys would be happier if I stayed with you.”

Aziraphale had noticed them standing a not-very-discreet distance away, watching him speak with Hava. 

“Yes, please.” 

As they walked under the giant Gabriel on their way out of the mall, Aziraphale waved his hand subtly inside his pocket. The damage to the model’s plaster repaired itself - but if his beatific face turned to a scowl, and the banner beneath him changed slightly, well, Aziraphale hoped the humans could manage this Christmas with a more true-to-life angel.

***

When Aziraphale returned to the bookshop, he found Crowley recently returned. The demon, his shoulders sagging with contrition, was snapping his fingers over and over, trying to conjure a new windowpane for the door that perfectly matched the bubbled, antique glass it had had before. He hardly looked up when Aziraphale arrived.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said, resting a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“‘M sorry,” Crowley mumbled, gesturing miserably toward the cracked window. “Was stupid.”

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale said, drawing Crowley into a hug. 

“It’s not,” Crowley grumbled. “I’m always...flying off the handle. And it’s not fair, not with you always so, so patient and calm.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You’re not the one who was almost escorted from the local shopping mall by two uniformed security personnel,” he said.

Crowley looked at him, stunned. “You  _ what? _ ”

“I did.” Aziraphale nodded, rather pleased with himself. “Had a proper meltdown, right in Westfield London.”

“Why?” Crowley had stopped messing with the window glass and Aziraphale could tell he now had the demon’s full attention. 

“You’re not going to believe this - but first, by the by, did you know there’s an American treat called a ‘cinnabun,’ which is like a cinnamon roll but somehow better and worse, at the same time? I wouldn’t be surprised if your lot was owed credit for it. I brought you one.” Aziraphale handed Crowley the greasy cardboard box as he shrugged off his coat and hung it up.

Crowley was not at all interested in the cinnabun. “What - Aziraphale, what did you do?” 

“Sit down, and I’ll tell you.” Aziraphale smiled, gesturing to the loveseat. Crowley was seated in an instant, staring at Aziraphale with curious impatience.

“Well,” Aziraphale began, joining Crowley on the loveseat and helping himself to a bite of the cinnabun that was ostensibly Crowley’s, “it being the Christmas season, the humans have, per custom, decorated their public spaces with nativity scenes, depicting, as you know, Mary and Joseph - bless them - and the baby Yeshua.”

“Jesus,” Crowley corrected, drawing one long finger through the sickly-sweet icing and licking it off.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes indulgently. “Anyhow, it just so happened that the large nativity display at Westfield London includes another character as well.” He paused for solemnity. “A depiction, quite romanticized I must add, of our  _ friend _ and his great annunciation.”

Crowley’s expression went dark. “Fuck.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale continued to nibble on the cinnamon roll. “And the humans were all so chuffed about the big friendly angel, and, well, I must admit that my front door was not the only object to take a bit of abuse today.”

“You didn’t,” Crowley gasped, but he was grinning in astonishment.

Aziraphale returned the smile. “The security personnel at the mall were none too amused, and I was bodily interrupted by two strapping young men. I do believe some of the humans recorded the altercation on video.”

“No way.” Crowley shook his head.

“Look on your mobile,” Aziraphale said primly. “I’m sure there’s some record.”

Crowley hastily pulled out his phone and tapped at it for a few seconds. Sure enough, a video titled WEIRD COSPLAYER LOSES HIS SHIT AT CHRISTMAS ANGEL showed a grainy, 37-second clip of Aziraphale screaming into the crowd while the two officers attempted to subdue him.

“Angel,” Crowley said, a note of concern creeping in alongside the awe in his voice. “What happened?”

Aziraphale shrugged, embarrassed by the glimpse of himself he’d seen in the video. “I got a bit away from myself, I think.” He knew the odd euphemistic phrase didn’t make much sense, but he was to ashamed to really put words to his outburst.

“Away from yourself - what does that mean?”

“It’s not been easy,” Aziraphale said, setting the cinnabun box aside so he could take Crowley’s hand between his, “for either of us. The stress, the memories - it’s a lot to hold.” He could hear Hava’s words coming through now, and was grateful for the new language.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, running his thumb over Aziraphale’s.

They sat in the soft quiet for a bit before Crowley spoke again. “I’m sorry, angel. I should have - I know it’s been hard on you, too. And me, just focused on my own self. I didn’t realize.”

Aziraphale slid one hand free so he could wrap an arm around Crowley. “It’s alright, darling. Of course you’re my priority. I’ll always be here to support you, and love you. But I’m hurting, too, and that means I have to figure out how to handle all this without - how did that gentleman in your mobile put it? Losing my shit.”

“But…” Crowley’s voice wavered. “How? If I can’t...if I’m too much of a mess…”

“Hush,” Aziraphale scolded lightly, punctuating it with a kiss to Crowley’s temple. “You’re not a mess, Crowley.”

“I wanna be there for you,” Crowley said, not making eye contact, “like you’re there for me.”

“You are,” Aziraphale reassured him, then amended, “you will be. When you can. When you’re ready. Right now, however, it’s partly my responsibility to find outlets elsewhere.”

“Like bashing up mall displays?” Crowley gave Aziraphale a sidelong smirk and helped himself to another finger-smear of icing.

“Well, no, ideally I’d find more prosocial avenues to express my feelings.”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “And those might be?”

Aziraphale handed Crowley Hava’s card, which read HAVA GOLDSTEIN, CRISIS COUNSELOR above her phone number and email address.

“I made a friend.”

Crowley turned the card over in his fingers. “And you think this will be good for you? Can this human really help?”

“She helped me today.”

Crowley visibly relaxed at that, setting the card back in Aziraphale’s lap. 

“I still can’t believe you did that,” he said, holding up his mobile, which still displayed a single paused frame of the video. “Didn’t you miracle it back to rights?”

Aziraphale gave his very best mischievous giggle. “For the most part.”

“For the most part?” Crowley was nearly at the edge of the loveseat, amazed and thrilled at Aziraphale’s capacity for petty vandalism in his name. “Aziraphale, what did you do?” 

Aziraphale took another rather large bite of the cinnabun, letting Crowley squirm for a bit, before swallowing. 

“Oh, I just fixed a minor typo. Fact checking and proof-reading are quite useful skills in my line of work.” He shrugged. “The humans ought to be grateful for the revision.” 

Crowley picked up his phone again, using two fingers to zoom in. There, under the archangel’s floating bare feet, a ribbon emblazoned with purple script read: BE VERY AFRAID.

And with that, they both collapsed into laughter.

“Wonder what the humans think of that,” Crowley said in between bursts.

“About time his reputation took a bit of a tarnish,” Aziraphale managed through peals of laughter. “Though I’d assume they’ll blame the banner maker and be quite affronted.”

“What a disaster!” Crowley shrieked, imitating an outraged mall manager. “No Gabriel in the manger next year.”

“BE VERY AFRAID,” Aziraphale intoned in a deep, serious voice, and the two continued to laugh, joy creeping in around the edges of the horror they had endured, a shared joke at Gabriel’s expense feeling like a Christmas miracle.

Eventually, their laughter calmed. Having lost all interest in any further discussion of the archangel, they set about finishing the cinnabun together, licking cinnamon and icing from each other’s fingers and chasing it with sweet-scented kisses. The corner of Hava’s card poked into Aziraphale’s belly as they cuddled together, and he slipped it into his pocket.

_ I’ll keep my cup full, _ Aziraphale thought, as he relished the sounds of Crowley’s happiness, as he gave thanks for the grace that flowed between the two of them and allowed a day that had started so wretchedly to end like this.  _ And I’ll pour it out for you, and we’ll keep each other filled, and we’ll never be empty again.  _

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very close to my heart as someone who does trauma work and knows firsthand how rough it can be when you're perpetually on the outside of a "comfort in, dump out" ring. Remember to take care of yourself and find your outer rings! <3


End file.
